Normal
by KathleenCaitlyn
Summary: The first time it happens, it is in the middle of the night. The second time it happens, it is because of a fight. The third time it happens, it is after one of their jobs. And then it happens a fourth time, and a fifth. And they try to stop, but they can't. Sam/Dean. Wincest.


Normal

The first time it happens, it is in the middle of the night.

In one of the many motel-rooms they spend a night or two, they have to share a king sized bed, that isn't really king sized and somewhere between midnight and four am, their limbs get tangled catastrophically and their bodies get pressed together in quiet a comfortable way. And since both of them didn't have any kind of action in this sort of way, some urges noticeably occur.

It is slow and sleepy, because they both are practically half asleep. It could have easily been a weird dream.  
So when the wake up the next morning, both lacking their cloths and with freaky half-memories, they both cough awkwardly and silently decide they would never talk or think of it ever again.

They can't look into each others eyes for a day or two, but soon everything is back to normal. Nothing had happened, right?

The second time it happens, it is because of a fight.

It was one of their usual topics and the fight only got that heated because they are brothers, and that's what brothers do. In anger and fury, their bodies move towards each other like magnets and the magnetic force results in body parts crashing into each other. But instead of fists and faces, it's their lips that furiously collide.  
It is rough and wild and energetic, the room a mess, their cloths lying all over the floor and their skins bruising here and there. Afterwards they lie next to each other without touching, separated not only by the physical distance but also by the same thoughts swirling inside their head. Questions and emotion mixing and mingling.

"What have we done?".

"Why did we do this?"

But also: "Why did it feel so good?"

Eventually one or the other stands up, goes into the bathroom and tries to shower off both, the guilt and the ecstasy. Neither of them disappear in the sink, but it sure feels better afterwards.

The both of them gather up their clothes and mutually decide that this was the last time it ever happens and that it would never, ever happen again.

This time there is no way of denying it, and it takes more than a few days for them to talk to each other more than a few sentences per day.

The third time it happens, it is after one of their jobs.

It had been pretty nasty, even on their measures and both of them are deeply injured, not only by what had happened, but also by everything that is going on lately. They come back into the motel-room with the first morning light and both of them are tired and terrified.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah" - a lie.

"Are – are you?"

Silence.

"Are you, Dean?"

"I'm tired, Sammy. I can't... I can't anymore. And I can't... I mustn't loose you"

And then they turn into magnets again.

"You won't" Sam manages to say before their lips collide again. But this time it is different. The anger has disappeared and all that is left is love.

This time it is slow again, but this time they are fully aware of what they were doing. It is soft and gentle and tender and loving.

They don't talk about it afterwards. How could they? They are both scared, terrified. They are afraid of what they had done and, much worse, afraid of what they had felt. What they still feel. They know they love each other, desperately need, want and love each other, and that really scares them. 

It happens a fourth time and then a fifth.

And they try to stop, they really do.  
But they cannot stop. Neither can deny the pure and utter need and desire they feel. Being apart physically hurts.

But so do the thoughts. It feels so wrong. It's sick and it's entirely wrong.

Then why does it feel so good? Why does it feel so right?

After what is probably their eleventh or twelfth time (who is counting anyway?) they lie in bed next to each other exhausted and post-ecstatic.  
Sam clears his throat.

"Can we talk?"

Silence.

"About what?"

"About... it"

"What it?"

"You know... _it_. This. What we are doing"

"What is there to talk about?"

"What... What are you thinking?"

_feeling._

"What am I thinking? I'm fucking my little brother. I'm fucking my baby brother, and I enjoy it. I like it. I need it. What the hell do you think I'm thinking? I hate myself".

That shuts him for a while, but he doesn't move and neither does Dean. If they could, they would just stand up and leave. But they can't.

Finally, Sam says: "I like it, too. I need it, too. I... I love you. I always have. I always wanted to be like you, I wanted your attention, I wanted... you. I just wanted you. And I still do. I think that this... this is normal. This is what we are. What we've always been like. And I don't want it to be different. It will never be different".


End file.
